


say when (say now)

by shoutz



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Disaster Lesbians, F/F, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz
Summary: In which Hilda's favorite regular becomes Hilda's favorite everything else, too.One iced caramel macchiato, one flat white.They show up every day, like clockwork. It’s simple enough.But Hilda doesn’t care about them. Hilda only cares abouther.
Relationships: Lucia goe Junius/Hilda Ware
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28
Collections: May-U Fic Exchange 2020





	say when (say now)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyLilac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLilac/gifts).



> this is my May-U exchange for Lady Lilac!! i hope you enjoy orz

One iced caramel macchiato, one flat white.

They show up every day, like clockwork. It’s simple enough.

But Hilda doesn’t care about them. Hilda only cares about _her._

The tall glass of water with the bleached white pixie cut that shouldn’t work but absolutely does, by some miracle. The stern, quiet woman who started showing up a few months ago and hasn’t missed a workday since. The one who has held Hilda’s dreams hostage since she first laid eyes on her.

Well, the _good_ dreams.

They appear at nearly the same time every morning, close enough to opening that they occasionally have to wait outside for Hilda or one of her coworkers to unlock the door for them. She’s always accompanied with a tall man, long black hair, a jovial people-pleaser type. He orders (and pays) for them both: one iced caramel macchiato, one flat white. They always chat quietly while they wait; the man is usually all pleasant grins and agreeable nods, but Hilda has only been lucky enough to glimpse the woman’s small smile a handful of times.

If only Hilda knew her name.

She has thus far deduced that they work in the high-rise two blocks over. Both seem relatively high on the food chain if their clothes and refinement are any indication, but apparently not high enough that they’re above getting their own coffee in the mornings. They very rarely if ever appear individually, though they are no strangers to the afternoon coffee break either. The man speaks of his father far too often in the context of work for him to _not_ be part of the business. But, the minutiae matter little and less.

She doesn’t _serve_ him, not quite, but he seems to rely quite heavily on her opinion despite how much else she does for him. For each of his questions and musings, she has an answer. She keeps him organized and sane and on-task, despite holding a modicum of her own stature. A dignified, capable stature that Hilda would not hesitate to climb like a tree at the first opportunity.

But, well. Manners. Hilda doesn’t even know her name, nor does she fashion herself a patient woman. But for the object of her affection, she supposes she can try. Don’t they say that good things come to those who wait?

This particular morning is shrouded in a persistent gray mist, bringing back to the surface all manner of rain accoutrement and customers griping about _walking_ in all this mess. The horror! The bleary, sodden weather does nothing to dim Hilda’s spirits though, especially not when there are tips at stake. So she smiles, and nods, and serves. Morally, she knows she should abhor such a loss of dignity solely for the sake of a paycheck, but the year or so she’s spent working in the shop has made her an expert at playing the customers. A flip of her hair here, a smile there, or a warm greeting by name.

She can endure a little bit of meek servitude so long as it bears fruit.

The front door swings open with a squeak and a chime, shortly thereafter accompanied with more squeaking from two sets of wet footprints as a couple of her workday morning regulars file inside. Hilda glances up from her work and flashes them a grin and a promise to serve them in just a moment.

Like _clockwork._

The dreaded water does nothing to lessen her intensity or her elegance, nor Hilda’s weakness towards her. She and her companion — Hilda only knows his name is Aymeric because he typically orders on behalf of the both of them — close their umbrellas and step up to the counter, eyeing the menu despite their tendencies to order the same thing every morning without fail.

Hilda approaches the register and stows the rag she had been using to appear busy, aiming her best smile at Aymeric and his dreamy friend. Mostly the dreamy friend. She flips an errant bit of hair out of her eyes, calculated, and says, “What can I do you for?”

Aymeric parrots their order, same as every morning unsurprisingly, while the woman stands quietly behind him and watches Hilda work. It’s a welcome gaze, even if she doesn’t look quite up to standard in her apron and khakis. At least the khakis fit well.

She makes it a point to turn and bend down to get another stack of cups for the register. For no particular reason.

They chat idly while Hilda makes their drinks, but their voices are far more hushed than usual. She can usually pick out bits and pieces of their conversations, various musings about work schedules or project deadlines or particularly aggravating coworkers, but today they seem to want to keep their secrets to themselves. Though Hilda can’t help but feel eyes on her, bright and piercing, while she hides her attempts at eavesdropping. Are they hers or his? Unable to resist the pull, she glances up to see— Oh, yes, they’re _hers,_ two striking green eyes watching while Aymeric murmurs to her about something Hilda can’t quite decipher, nor does she care enough to try.

When their eyes meet, the woman nearly startles, a rosy blush creeping up her neck to claim her fair skin. Her eyes dart away to some irrelevant piece of the background, the menu or a bag of coffee beans or some other thing that isn’t Hilda. Aymeric chuckles next to her, trying to hide it behind a modest hand, but Hilda sees it for what it is.

So she grins to herself and continues crafting their drinks.

Moments of drink-making and inaudible conversation across the counter pass until Hilda sets two cups on the countertop and calls out Aymeric’s name. The two approach the counter and empty their hands so they can fill their drinks with additives to their individual preferences. Aymeric makes a bee-line for the agave nectar, as per his usual, while his companion splashes just a bit of cream into her own drink.

She looks up at Hilda and smiles, prior bashfulness shed in favor of something that looks far too close to…fondness? “Thank you,” she says, and though it’s not the first time they have spoken at all, the words seem to have a weight to them that they’ve never had before.

Or perhaps she’s imagining it.

But… 

Either way, Hilda returns the gesture with her best smile and a wink. They turn to leave with their drinks in hand, and Hilda tries to get her cheeks back to their normal shade as she picks up the next drink to make.

Once complete, she sets it on the counter and calls out the name, but her eyes catch on something that isn’t meant to be there. A simple blue planner sits next to the creamer, seemingly abandoned.

“Did anyone lose this?” she calls to the crowd waiting for their drinks, but receives no answer. Several people have come and gone to pick up their drinks since then, and more still have joined the mass of people waiting for their own. It could conceivably belong to any one of them, including those who have since left the shop. Some of the customers look between each other and shrug. No one approaches to take it.

Hilda takes a closer look at the small notebook, turning it over for signs of ownership but finding nothing forthcoming on either cover. She looks up — still, no one claims it. Would opening it be a breach of privacy? Certainly some identifying information could be found within, leading her to the owner, but is it even Hilda’s problem to solve? The owner will have to return for it at some point…

Her resolve crumbles. She flips open the cover and skims the first page, hesitance evaporated in the face of a burning curiosity. A simple design borders the neat, clean blue lines that mark the paper. On the name line is _Lucia Junius_ penned in a neat script, and while the address isn’t necessarily one she knows offhand, the street name rings familiar enough that she knows it’d only be a short walk to find — two blocks over, to be precise. Although there are no residential areas nearby… Would someone really put their work address in their planner?

Worth a try, at any rate. So Hilda begs away for a quick break, hangs up her apron, and sets off to find the address.

The rain is far worse outside than it is looking out the window from indoors. Within moments Hilda’s hair is sopping, bangs hanging limp in front of her eyes as she quickens her pace down the street. If only she had thought to bring an umbrella, so she could look more human and less like a wet cat when she goes to meet this Lucia individual.

Is it a coincidence that the address listed just happened to match the address of the high-rise where Aymeric and his lovely friend work? Is it fate that someone there would leave their planner at her shop? Is it luck that her lovely smile and startled blush won’t get out of Hilda’s head?

Is it—

 _Infatuation._ Of course. How could it not be? The brightest point of any workday is the privilege of seeing her, just for a moment. To be on the receiving end of one of her gentle smiles, of her polite gratitude.

It’s just a crush. Nothing wrong with that. It shall surely pass. One of these days.

She ensures the planner is sheltered from the rain and quickens her pace.

A few minutes of soaked walking pass before she finds herself in the front lobby of the aforementioned high rise. Its pristine marble floors and elegant chandeliers ensure that Hilda looks as out-of-place as humanly possible in her soaked khakis, black tee, and squeaking rain boots. The security guard at the front desk moves to stand and do some semblance of his job, but the doors on the opposite side of the room leading into the rest of the building swing open.

_It’s her._

She’s holding the same umbrella as she had used this morning, seemingly in a rush to get to wherever she’s going. Despite this, she slows her brisk pace to a halt, taking in the sight of Hilda as Hilda returns the favor and wills the color and heat from her cheeks.

They watch each other for a few silent moments, waiting for the other to say something to break the strange bubbling tension between them. Hilda wishes she had more time to wring the water out of her ponytail, or make her clothes more presentable than they are now. But, she retrieves the planner and finds it blessedly dry. The woman’s eyes find it and she makes a face that Hilda wishes she could frame and keep forever.

“You don’t happen to know a _Lucia Junius,_ would you?” she asks, holding up the notebook with a grin.

“I was about to…” the thought peters out, and another takes its place. “You walked all this way in the rain?”

Hilda shrugs. “A nice bit of fresh air. And an excuse to see you again.”

Lucia tries and fails to resist a bashful smile as she looks away. “You didn’t have to do all that,” she murmurs.

“I wanted to,” Hilda retorts, stepping towards her. The guard has since sat back in his seat, seemingly uninterested in whatever business she has in the building. “But if you’d really like to make it up to me, how about you call me when you’re done here and we can get coffee somewhere?” Lucia opens her mouth to say something, but Hilda interrupts, “Somewhere I _don’t_ work, preferably, but if you’re dead set on it then far be it for me to deny you.”

Her expression melts into a smile, warm and reciprocal, and in its glow Hilda can almost forget about the water clinging to her hair and clothes, made colder by the building’s aggressive air conditioning.

“I’d love nothing more,” Lucia replies, voice like honey and satin. She takes the planner from Hilda and opens to the front page, fetching a pen out of her pocket and holding it towards her.

Hilda, the picture of grace and charm and elegance, stares at it blankly. A moment passes, which turns into two, which turns into just the right amount of time to make it incredibly awkward.

“Your number?”

Hilda scrambles to take the pen and the planner. Lucia chuckles and Hilda wants nothing more than to hear it again, and again, and however many times she can elicit it. She writes her number in one of the margins, and puts her name beneath it for good measure.

Lucia takes the planner and smiles. She then holds out her umbrella’s handle. Hilda stares at it again, blank as before, but Lucia is quick to clarify. “So you don’t have to walk back in all of that rain. And…a little insurance, I suppose.”

The corner of Hilda’s lips quirks up in a grin. She swings the umbrella up and props it on her shoulder, saluting towards her. “It’s a date, then,” she says, and tries not to beam too brightly as Lucia nods. “I’ll see you after work, Lucia.”

“You most certainly will.”

With that, Hilda turns on her heels and heads back out into the rain. She opens the umbrella and hoists it above her head, not quite able to wipe the smile from her lips. Instead she begins her journey back to the coffee shop as the light, fluttering feeling in her chest blooms into something warm and fond.

Her shift can’t end soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> moral of the story is that sometimes thirst pays off
> 
> i am [@shoutzwastaken](http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken)
> 
> me and the Squad hang out over at [the book club](https://discord.gg/X6NJJAb)


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